


Of Joxters & Snufkins

by SiriuslyOrion



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Spanking, cat dad, dark!Joxter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyOrion/pseuds/SiriuslyOrion
Summary: Thinking that he would be better able to parent a growing Snufkin, Mymble brings the boy to his father, the Joxter. Things don't start off great, the Joxter doesn't know the first thing about being a parent, nor does he have an inclination to learn. Likewise, Snufkin hasn't a clue how to navigate his way around his father. Nearly everything about him and everything he does seems to take him further and further away from his father's good graces. Still, he has no choice but to learn to walk that fine line, and maybe along the way the Joxter takes in a few things about his son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I have a criminally underdeveloped knowledge of the Moomin franchise, but the internet made me fall in love with these characters and I felt the need to write a cat dad fanfic. Enjoy this angst filled scribble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin meets his father, The Joxter

**Chapter 1**

Snufkin, a small mumrik of eleven, hid behind his mother’s skirts as she knocked on the wooden door to the tall, vaguely onion-shaped hut. His mother, known far and wide as Mymble, told him that this neck of the woods was where his father lived, or at the very least where he wandered. She also told him that should his father be okay with it, he would be living with him from then on.

“Why must I go live with him, mother?” He had asked her at the time. She told him that he was far more a mumrik than a mymble and should be around his father for the coming years as he’d know things she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

His stomach still fluttered at the idea. He’d never been away from his mother for too long and now he was going to be apart from her for who knows how long. Still, meeting his father was an exciting prospect. Would he have a tail like Snufkin? Would he look a lot like him? Would they both like fishing? The Mymble had nothing but glowing praises for his father, the Joxter. She went on about how he was so charming and funny and adventurous, and how’d he’d take Snufkin on a real adventure someday.

The lock on the door clicked. Snufkin stiffened, his hands getting clammy and his tail wrapping around his leg.

“Joxter!” Mymble declared, barging across the threshold before the door had opened all the way.

Snufkin heard an exclamation of surprise and a squawk of pain as the Joxter was pulled into one of his mother’s infamous embraces.

“Mymble!” The Joxter declared. “What a wonderful surprise!”

Snufkin still couldn’t see him, Mymble still in the way. He could see his shoes though, dangling midair as the Joxter returned the hug. They were long and red and in need of a buffing, and the laces were a loose tripping hazard.

The Joxter was released from the Mymble’s arms and it was only then that he noticed a third person in the room.

“Who’s this?” He asked, running a furry, clawed hand through his unruly black hair.

“This,” Mymble said, getting behind her son and giving him a little push on the back. “is your son, Joxter. Snufkin, say ‘hello’.”

Snufkin stepped forward, took off his green, wide-rimmed hat and looked up at the tall mumrik. “H-hello.” He said, averting his gaze. “My name is Snufkin.”

Joxter, for his part, didn’t move. In fact, he looked more like a stunned animal than a mumrik in that moment. “I have a son!?” He yelled, his long, black tail straightening behind him as he pulled at his hair. “How? When?” He aimed his questions at Mymble, who couldn’t help but smirk, somewhat knowingly.

“Well, I believe you know how, we did…” She glanced at her son. “dance quite a few times. And as for when, well I’d say it’s been nearly twelve years at this point.”

The Joxter had many more questions, all of which the Mymble answered whilst preparing a pot of tea.

“Well we’ve been travelling, Joxter- you don’t have any sugar, do you?” She asked, cutting off her explanation of why he never knew about Snufkin until now.

“No, I don’t.” Joxter replied, head in hands at the kitchen table. He inhaled, eyeing his small son out of the corner of his eye. Snufkin hadn’t moved an inch from his earlier spot, heavily doubting he was even wanted in the onion-shaped house at all.

“Why are you here now, then?” He asked, looking at Mymble’s back.

“Oh, well I think Snufkin should stay with you for a while.” She said, sipping her drink. For a minute, her slurping was the only sound in the hut.

“Why?” Joxter asked as if he were being asked to mind a pair of dirty old boots.

“A boy should know his father.” Mymble said, setting her empty cup down. “And he’s getting to an age where I can’t help him the way you can. Mumriks and mymbles are just too different.” She sighed.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea.” Joxter said.

A tense silence followed. Joxter bit at his nails, Mymble had her back turned to both of them. Snufkin sniffled. Both adults looked at him, both with surprise.

“Snufkin?” The Mymble said, shuffling up to her child. “Is something the matter?”

Snufkin shook his head, fists wiping away the tears in his eyes before they fell. “N-no.” He answered, his voice cracking.

“Oh, we should’ve spoken about this in private.” Mymble lamented, drawing her son into her chest.

The Joxter exhaled, his nails clicking against the table like raindrops on a roof. After another minute filled with only Snufkin’s occasional hiccup, he spoke. “Fine, he can stay.”

The Mymble grinned. “Did you hear that Snufkin, he said you can stay.”

Snufkin didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The Joxter clearly had extreme reservations about getting to know his son. What if he didn’t like Snufkin? What if he decided he didn’t want him anymore, but his mother was out somewhere they couldn’t find her, so he was just left out in the woods? His mother was notoriously difficult to track.

“Mm-hm.” He finally answered.

Not much later, the Mymble decided it was time for her to take her leave. Snufkin was still very nervous about the whole affair. Even after his mother reassured him time and time again, he still felt a stone drop into his gut as he watched her disappear into the dense forest.

After she was out of sight, the Joxter locked the door, leaving the key on a hook that was far too high for him to reach.

“So…” Joxter trailed off, completely flummoxed as to where to go from there. “Are you hungry?”

Snufkin was not, he and his mother had eaten some very nice blueberries not an hour before. He nodded anyway.

The Joxter nodded back, sauntering into the kitchen. Snufkin sat at the table as his father placed a pot on the stove and boiled a piece of meat.

“Pa-, um Mr. Joxter, sir?” Snufkin floundered, not knowing what was okay to call his father by.

“Joxter is fine.” He said, taking the seat across from Snufkin. It was the first time Snufkin looked directly at him. He was definitely furrier than him, scruffy even, with his hair looking greasy and unkept, looking as if it were shaped by wearing a hat for too long. Snufkin wore his hat a lot too, but his mother always had him wash his hair and generally clean himself a lot more than the Joxter was apparently used to.

“Where, where can I sleep?” He asked. He really was quite a bit tired after the long journey he and his mother had gone on. They didn’t know exactly where the Joxter lived so they had to do a lot of wandering to even find someone local who knew.

“I only have the one bed.” He answered, looking above. Snufkin followed his gaze and saw that the entire upper level was on a platform jutting out of the wall halfway up the hut. It didn’t look to have any support beams or anything keeping it up. “I’m sure it’ll do us both until I figure something else out.” He shrugged. “Are you tired?”

Snufkin nodded, his legs and feet aching more now that he’d stopped moving for a bit.

“We’ll eat, and then you can sleep.” The Joxter stated, standing and tending to the food again. It wasn’t terrible, the boiled meat tasted vaguely of chicken. The Joxter had thrown some carrots and lettuce into the pot and served those too.

The Joxter led Snufkin up the stairs that looked to be no more than planks hammered into the wall.

“You can leave your things in this.” He said, pulling a dusty chest from under the bed and pushing it up against the wall. He emptied it of a few books and a moth eaten coat, shoving them under the bed. “Out of sight, out of mind!” He chorused, shooting Snufkin a small grin.

Snufkin thanked him, tossing his hat into the chest before shoving his coat in there too. He left his shoes next to the chest. He flexed his toes and sighed with relief. His soles were aching. The bed looked very comfortable. Even sitting on it he could tell it was just layer after layer of furs and feather stuffed sheets.

Joxter pulled the covers back for him and Snufkin crawled in, feeling as if he were floating on a cloud rather than lying on a bed. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the nerves of the day settling. When he woke up it was when Joxter was pulling the covers back to crawl in next to him. Looking out a window he could tell that it was much later now.

“Sorry if I woke you.” Joxter whispered, curling into the furs. “Just go back to sleep, we have things to do in the morning.”

Snufkin didn’t remember being woken up by the time the sun rose. He didn’t even remember where he was, he only knew he was somewhere new. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes but found he couldn’t move very much. He was pressed against something warm and hairy. It took him a moment to realise that he had curled into his father’s chest during the night and that the Joxter had curled around him.

Snufkin didn’t move much more, he didn’t want to wake the Joxter up and start their first day together with him being cranky.

He drifted in out of consciousness a few times before Joxter woke up. He looked stunned for a moment before remembering why there was another person in his bed.

“Good morning.” He said through a yawn, throwing the covers away. As the Joxter stood, Snufkin could see that he had thick, black fur going down his back and arms. As he stretched his claws extended, sharp and pointed. He looked at his own hands, wondering if he’d ever get claws like those.

“Come on, boy. We’re going to the lake.” The Joxter said, pulling on his red coat.

“How come?” He asked, copying him.

“Water.” He stated, going down the stairs. “And a bath.” He added.

The Joxter brought with them five wooden buckets and a long, thick rod of wood with deep grooves at either end. The lake wasn’t far away at all, only a couple minutes’ walk away from the hut. Without another word, the Joxter stripped off his clothes and waded into the shallows, shivering.

“Well come on, you’re not gonna get clean by standing in the dirt.” Joxter said, running his wet paws through his hair. Snufkin could see that the Joxter’s fur went down his legs too and completely covered his feet.

“R-right!” Snufkin replied, stripping his clothes too and wading into the fresh river water. He watched as the Joxter scrubbed and unknotted his fur, even in the hard-to-reach places. Snufkin looked at his own back, wondering if he’d grow fur like that too. At least he had a tail like Joxter if nothing else.

When they were done, Joxter basked atop a nearby boulder, letting the morning sun dry him. Snufkin scampered to climb up too, but he slipped. The Joxter caught his wrist and pulled him up.

“Thank you.” He said, lying down on the warmed rock.

“Mm.” The Joxter replied, eyes closed.

They lay in comfortable silence for a long while, Snufkin was sure that his father had fallen asleep again. When he scooted closer to see, one of Joxter’s blue eyes snapped open at him.

Snufkin recoiled, tail wrapping around his leg.

The Joxter sighed and shifted to lie on his side, propping his head up on his fist. “I think we should get to know each other a bit more.” He said, his tail drifting over to Snufkin’s. “What do you like?”

Snufkin unfurled his tail, letting it drift with his father’s. “Fishing.” He answered simply. “And playing the harmonica!” He added.

“Fishing and playing the harmonica? Well, there’s a lot of space for those around here.” The Joxter said. “I do fish a good bit. Having another rod in the water will be helpful.” Joxter smiled.

Snufkin beamed, happy that their first day was already getting off to a good start.

After the sun dried them, the Joxter had Snufkin carry a pail of water back to the cabin while he carried four. The Joxter had the buckets hanging off the long rod he brought, bearing its weight on his shoulders. Snufkin could barely carry the one with both hands, he marvelled at how the Joxter effortlessly carried four times the volume.

They emptied the pails into a tank under the kitchen sink. They made the trip to the lake and back four more times, and by the time they were done, Snufkin was exhausted, the palms of his hands stinging.

“Have you ever hunted before?” Joxter asked as he carried the whistling kettle from the stove to the table.

Snufkin shook his head. “Not much. Mother and I usually had berries and fruits. I did catch a rabbit once though.” He said, leaving out the detail where he let the little creature go later.

“Hm. Well, I’ll show you how to hunt a bit while you’re here. We’ll mostly eat fish and vegetables and fruits but having a juicy piece of meat every now and then is nice. Think you’d have any skill with a bow and arrow?” The Joxter asked, pouring the tea into two cups.

“No, I shouldn’t think so. I’ve never used one.” Snufkin answered, his previously elated feeling deflating after realising how much he didn’t know.

“That’s fine, I can make one for your size. Mine would be far too big, you see.” Joxter pushed the cup towards Snufkin, sipping his own noisily.

“Thank you, Joxter.” Snufkin replied, sipping too much of his tea and scalding his tongue, but he hid his pain.

Later that night, after a dinner that was the same as the previous night’s, Snufkin and Joxter sat on a fur rug in front of the blazing fire-place. Joxter had taken out a pan-flute and played a few notes, Snufkin answering back with his harmonica. They shot songs at each other for almost an hour, by which time the sun had set and Snufkin was yawning, his notes becoming more and more out of tune.

The Joxter chuckled. “I think it’s time for bed, Snufkin.” He said, setting his pan-flute to the side.

“No, I can keep going.” Snufkin said as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

Joxter reached out and plucked Snufkin’s harmonica before he could blow into it again. Scowling, Snufkin tried to grab it back but his father held it out of reach.

“See, you’re getting cranky.” Joxter said, leaving the harmonica with his flute. “Time to go to bed. I’ll join you after I’ve cleaned and locked up.” He said, helping Snufkin get to his feet.

“Okay Joxter.” Snufkin pouted.

“That’s a good boy.” The grown mumrik said, turning away to the kitchen. Snufkin made sure he was on the other side of the room before hiding his harmonica in his coat. He did get ready for bed, leaving his things in his chest, but he made sure to keep an eye on Joxter from the top level, watching as he scrubbed the pot and plates they used for dinner, locked the door and made sure the fire was out.

Using only very small breaths, he blew into his instrument. He didn’t see the Joxter’s ears twitch in his direction, but he did notice when his father started making his way up the stairs. He hid his harmonica under his pillow and faced away from the Joxter, thinking that he had completely outfoxed the man.

“Snufkin?” The Joxter said, not getting ready for bed as Snufkin thought he would.

“Yes, Joxter?” Snufkin exaggerated how tired he sounded, making his eyes seem more lidded than they actually were.

“What’s under your pillow?” Joxter asked, arms crossed and foot tapping on the wooden floor.

“Nothing.” Snufkin lied. He felt a stone drop into his gut. He’d been so careful and quiet, hadn’t he? How did the Joxter know?

“Are you sure about that?” Joxter walked around to Snufkin’s side of the bed, glaring down at the young half-mumrik with his piercing blue eyes.

“Yes.” He answered meekly, refusing to meet his father’s gaze. He hoped Joxter would just take his word for it and drop the matter.

“Alright, then sit up and put your hands on your head.” Snufkin was caught, he knew it. He did as he was told and only listened as his father sighed, having lifted the pillow and found the silver instrument.

“Joxter I’m-” Snufkin was cut off from his apology when he saw a flash of silver streak across his eyes, then a metallic crack echoed from the lower level. Gut sinking, he looked over the edge and sure enough, he saw his beloved instrument shattered into too many pieces, irreparable.

Tears edged their way into his eyes. He turned with a glower, about to give the Joxter a piece of his mind. Then he saw his eyes. Any bravado he felt in that moment simpered into nothing under the cold and furious gaze of the Joxter.

Snufkin yelped as his face was grabbed, Joxter’s deadly claws poking painfully into his cheeks. “ _Never_ lie to me, Snufkin. Ever.”

Snufkin was at a loss for words, so he nodded, willing to do anything to avert his eyes from that piercing stare, those loveless, slitted eyes.

“Good.” Joxter stepped away and got ready for bed, Snufkin laying as close to the edge as possible. He shivered when Joxter got in the other side, offering no amiable “Good night” or any acknowledgment that Snufkin was there.

He couldn’t stop his lip from trembling, the memory of his father’s penetrating stare burned into the back of his eyes, the way his claws had been so close to cutting his face, the dread he felt when the Joxter glared at him, the agonising sound of his favourite thing shattering beyond repair; it all built up in a matter of minutes and completely spoiled the first day he spent with his father.

He sobbed, not only for his instrument, and not only for the Joxter’s harshness, but for the fact that he had ruined what had otherwise been a very fun day. Why couldn’t he have just gone to bed like he was told? Why did he have to disobey Joxter after he’d been so, well, “nice” was an okay way of putting it considering how suddenly and abruptly Snufkin entered the man’s life.

Snufkin sobbed and hiccupped as quietly as he could, not wanting to aggravate Joxter even further. He could hear him shifting next to him. Snufkin said nothing and tried to be as silent as physically possible.

“Snufkin?” Joxter’s tone was completely unreadable to him. Was he even more angry? Was he going to try and console him? Snufkin had no clue whatsoever.

“Y-yes.” He squeaked.

“I’m not angry with you, just annoyed, so there’s no reason for the waterworks, okay?” He said, seemingly attempting to sound amicable.

“Okay.” Snufkin whispered.

“Good.” Joxter yawned. Curling closer to his son. Snufkin felt his gut untighten a bit. Maybe this was his father’s way of showing forgiveness. He turned and buried his face into his father’s chest, trying to repeat the position from last night. It must’ve worked because Joxter tightened his hold on Snufkin, and before much longer the man was snoring, followed closely by his son, who was hopeful for the following day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin is scared of thunderstorms, so he's glad Joxter is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who left a kudos, commented and bookmarked the last chapter, you guys are awesome! I wasn't expecting such a positive reaction right off the bat :D
> 
> Hopefully this one goes down just as well!

**Chapter 2**

“You need to be as quiet as possible.” The Joxter whispered into Snufkin’s ear. The mumriks were crouched together behind a thicket of bushes, a slight gap in the foliage giving them a view of a fat hog drinking from a stream. Snufkin could feel his father’s breath against his ear. It made him sweat. The pressure, the bowstring pulling hard on his fingers, the thought of killing the unsuspecting creature.

He gulped. Unable to look, he fired the arrow. He heard it whistle through the air before a jarring twang bounced back at him. The hog grunted and took off in the opposite direction. Joxter sighed and Snufkin heard him notch an arrow. Another whistle but this time it was followed by the pained squeal of the hog.

“C’mon.” Joxter commanded. “And fetch that arrow.” He felt sick as he took off his boots and rolled up his trousers, knowing that just behind him Joxter was delivering the killing blow to the creature. He waded into the stream, found the arrow and turned just in time to see his father pull his arrow from the hog’s hind leg.

“We’ll be able to use every part of this.” Joxter said, tying the dead animal’s feet to a pole for them to carry home. “Meat, obviously, pelt, bones. Just about all of it is useful.”

“Mm-hm.” Snufkin agreed. He didn’t really know how to talk to his father. He never hunted before, nor did his mother. They scavenged if they needed to, but mostly bartered for their food in small settlements or bought from a farm. His mother had quite a way with textiles that few others could match so they made their living off of that.

Snufkin cringed through the Joxter’s tutorial on skinning an animal, something that smelled and felt awful. He was happy to wash the blood away in the river, but he could feel his father’s eyes burning into the back of his neck the entire time.

“It’s gonna storm later.” Joxter said suddenly, taking Snufkin out of his watery stupor.

Snufkin’s gut churned. He hated storms with a blazing fury. He always had. The way the sky shrieked, the way lightning flashed, the way the wind made everything tremble and shake, it all made him want to bury himself in a hole and never leave. Something told him that it was best not to say that to the Joxter.

“Is that bad?” Snufkin inquired, not wanting to show himself a craven as well as a terrible hunter. Besides, he thought that the cabin might actually flood.

“Not for us. The cabin’s on a hill, I was just hoping to go to the nearby village tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I guess it’ll have to wait.”

Snufkin knew the village he spoke of, he had passed through it with his mother during their search for Joxter. The locals had been accommodating and sweet if not a little too curious when they mentioned the name “Joxter”.

There was no sun to bask in, so the mumriks dried off and went straight home, Joxter immediately boarded up the door and windows. He stewed a choice cut of their day’s kill with some carrots and potatoes and served it in a bowl with a glass of milk.

“Thank you!” Snufkin said, inhaling the mouth-watering scent. The Joxter was by no means an extravagant cook, but he knew how to cook a nice piece of meat, something the Mymble had never tried and rarely bought. Good meat was expensive after all.

Joxter grunted an acknowledgement and silently ate his food, the ears atop his head quirking and twitching in every direction. He could hear the storm getting closer. Without finishing his food, he went and lit a fire. The chimney went right by the bed on the upper level and there were metal pipes inside the walls that heated up whenever the fire was ablaze.

When he turned back to the kitchenette he saw Snufkin at the sink, washing and scrubbing the dirty wares. He almost faltered, not expecting his son to take up the chore without so much as a hint from him. Then he saw that his own bowl, which he had left half full, was not on the table. When he got closer he could see that both bowls had already been cleaned, Snufkin working on scrubbing the grime from the pot the food had been cooked in.

“Snufkin?” The Joxter said, his voice unreadable, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed at his son.

“Yes?” Snufkin replied, the slight smile he had on his face melting when he saw the older mumrik’s glower. “J-Joxter?” He stuttered, his eyes betraying fear.

“Where’s my food?” Joxter asked, knowing full well half of his dinner was in the bin, but he wanted Snufkin to know exactly what he’d done.

“W-what?” Snufkin stammered, his eyes darting back and forth, realisation ebbing its way into his mind. “Oh.” He said, sounding and feeling smaller than an ant.

“Oh?” Joxter spat, stalking up to his son and reaching a clawed hand up to his throat. He didn’t squeeze or tighten his hand, but just having it there seemed to be enough to get him Snufkin’s undivided attention. “You binned half my dinner while I was making sure we would be warm during the storm tonight.”

Snufkin’s eyes widened, his throat went dry and his lip trembled. “I’m sorry…” He whispered. “I, I just thought-” The Joxter cut him off by throwing him to the side by his throat. It wasn’t a very hard throw, barely enough to make Snufkin fall onto his rear, but it still made him tremble at the sight of the Joxter, who was glaring down at him with slit pupils. Then his father turned away and rummaged through the cupboards, looking for something to substitute half of his dinner.

Snufkin creeped away to the upper level, hiding in the corner right next to his chest. He felt tears brim in his eyes. He’d done it again, he did something stupid and made his father angry with him again. Sure, the day hadn’t been going great but he thought he could make it better by doing some of the cleaning that Joxter always did. He’d been so happy that he’d had the idea he didn’t really take the time to ask why most of Joxter’s food would still be in his bowl, he just tossed it in with the rest of the rubbish and cleaned. When he saw the furious look on Joxter’s face and finally realised what he’d done, he couldn’t believe his own stupidity.

He stayed huddled in that corner long after Joxter had scraped together a dinner of hardened bread and lightly fried pork, long after the rain started to patter on the roof and wind began to whistle between the trees.

Snufkin decided that the best thing he could do was apologise and swear he’d think more in the future. He slowly and shakily descended the stairs and sauntered right up to Joxter, who was lying against a pile of pelts by the fire, a smoky cloud coming from the pipe he was puffing.

“Joxter?” He said, his voice as meek as a mouse. His toes curled into the furs under his bare feet, his fingers wringed against one another and his tongue darted to wet his chapped lips.

“What?” The Joxter growled, slightly opening one eye.

“I’m sorry!” Snufkin blurted, wanting to force everything out before he lost his nerve. “I, I didn’t think earlier and I just wanted to help and, and I wanted to show you that I could be helpful and, and…” He trailed off, the eloquent apology he rehearsed in his head replaced by the sorry excuse he just spat out.

Joxter eyed him. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. Had he only made him angrier? Had his display made things a little better? He just couldn’t tell with him.

They stared at each other, by which time Snufkin had been sure that he made things even worse. His lip trembled again, and muttering even more apologies he backed away, kicking himself.

The Joxter sat forward, rubbing his temples as he set his pipe to the side. “It’s fine.” He said before Snufkin backed away too far. “Well, it’s not, it was very annoying, and frankly I wanted to smack some sense into you,” Snufkin clasped his hands behind his back, hoping that maybe this was going to end well for him. “but I suppose you didn’t mean it.”

Snufkin swore his heart did flips in his chest. He let a small smile creep onto his face, elated that he got somewhere better with the Joxter.

“Thank you.”

Joxter nodded and leaned back into his furs, pipe back in his mouth. Snufkin lay down on the furs too, only a foot or so from his father. He could hear the storm getting closer and he certainly didn’t want to be huddled alone in a corner when it got there. He looked around for something to occupy himself. Usually he’d play his harmonica right about now but…

He could see Joxter’s pan flute sitting on a shelf by the fire-place. He walked up to it and held his hand over it. He thought before acting this time and looked over his shoulder.

“Joxter?” He said, his hand still hovering over the instrument.

Joxter half-opened an eye and nodded. Smiling, Snufkin took the flute and sat across from his father again. He blew into it, a bit surprised by the pitched tune. He blew into it again and again, playing a random assortment of notes that didn’t sound nearly as eloquent as when Joxter played it.

The Joxter set his pipe down and sat up. Snufkin saw this and thought that his playing was annoying him so he set it aside, somewhat dejected. Joxter gestured for Snufkin to come over to him and instead of taking the flute away he had his son sit between his legs.

“This is how you really play it.” Joxter said, placing his hands over Snufkin’s. “And you need to purse your lips like this, see?” Snufkin copied his father, elated that Joxter was taking the time to show him how to do it properly. “And don’t just jerk it from side to side, slide it smoothly.” Snufkin just blew as his father moved his hands for him and just like that, he was playing proper music. Of course, it wasn’t so much a song as it was a rudimentary melody. Still, he was learning.

The fire cracked and burned as the father and son played together, so engrossed in the music that neither noticed when the rain got heavier, the wind blew harder and then-

**_CRACK!_ **

The sky roared, an intense flash enlightening the cabin for just a split moment! Snufkin paled and buried himself in his father’s chest, hands covering his ears.

Joxter was startled. Of course, the thunder took him by surprise, he’d been so engrossed in his son’s playing, but his son’s visceral reaction also caught him off guard. Then again, he also wasn’t fond of the rumbling and reacted much the same at Snufkin’s age. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled a thick fur over them as they lay in the pile.

“It can’t hurt you.” Joxter whispered into Snufkin’s ear. It didn’t stop his son’s trembling, especially when another roar tore at the heavens.

“Mama.” Snufkin cried, trying to bury himself further into Joxter.

“Mama’s not here, Snufkin.” Joxter tried to soothe him but knew that few things could comfort a scared child as much as a mother’s embrace. “Only your papa.”

The storm raged on, seemingly not getting any further away. Snufkin was glad his father was there, holding him and running a hand through his hair even though he’d made him so mad earlier that evening.

The storm had gotten so loud and so close that to Snufkin it sounded as if the thunder was clapping right over their cabin. “Papa!” He sobbed, wrapping his arms around Joxter’s neck.

“I’m here!” Joxter assured. “I’m not going anywhere.” Snufkin’s state struck something primal in Joxter, something he didn’t think he’d had in a long time; an unadulterated and unyielding urge to protect his child. Was this what Mymble felt? What other parents felt towards their children? To want to hide them away and make it so nothing could hurt them? For years he viewed himself as being unfit to be a father, not a good one at least, but now…

Their tails tangled together, father and son waited out the storm, falling asleep in each other’s embrace.

Joxter woke first. He could see sunlight poking through cracks in the boarded windows and he heard birds chirping their morning song. He eased Snufkin off of him, wrapping him in the warmed furs as he went about assessing the damages. After clearing the door, he went outside and was happy to see that the area hadn’t flooded. The river had bloated a couple of feet, but it was nothing that wouldn’t go down in a week or two. The path to the village was a little waterlogged and a tree had fallen but nothing that should keep them away. They’d be able to go that day after all.

Joxter walked back in just as Snufkin stretched awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning.” Joxter said, sauntering into the kitchen.

“Good morning, papa.” Snufkin said, seating himself at the table with his tail lagging behind.

Papa. Something lit up inside Joxter when he heard Snufkin call him that. A smile tugged at his lips as he sliced some salted pork into strips.

“We’re going to the village today.” He said, taking the seat across from Snufkin and placing the platter between them.

“What for?” He asked, biting into a piece of pork.

“Food. Bread, salt, flour, vegetables, things like that.” He answered, chewing his own piece. “We’ll wash before we go.”

Snufkin stuck close to Joxter’s side as they walked into the village. Most people were fixing damages incurred by the storm, others had already set up shop selling food and supplies, things people might need in the aftermath.

“Mornin’, Joxter!” A rotund, yellow furred man said as the pair entered his shop.

“Morning, Sunny.” Joxter replied, leaning against the counter as Snufkin explored. He saw some of the things his father had rattled off that they needed earlier, namely a stack of sacks of flour that were as long as he was tall. Snufkin reached up on his tip-toes, slipping his hands under the top sack and trying to pull it away.

“Oh! Little boy!” Sunny cut off his conversation with Joxter when he saw Snufkin dragging the sack from the pile. Snufkin didn’t register the call in time, buckling under the weight of the sack as it dragged four more off the top of the pile. The sacks exploded in a cloud of white, coating Snufkin and most of the floor in the fine powder. Snufkin coughed, wiping the flour out of his face.

“Snufkin!” Joxter growled, storming over to his son and dragging him to his feet by the arm.

“That hurts!” Snufkin cried, his father’s tight grip and sharp claws digging into his bicep.

“Good!” Joxter said coldly, marching Snufkin into a corner and forcing his nose against the wall. “Stay there.”

Snufkin could only listen with a stone in his gut as his father apologised profusely to Sunny, saying things about working off the damages and having Snufkin clean the mess up. The boy began to tremble in the corner, fearing what his father would do now that he’d done something really stupid, something that was gonna cost both of them.

Hope kindled in him when Sunny said that they wouldn’t need to pay for the flour or work it off and that he’d be okay with just having the mess cleaned up. The Joxter disagreed and decided that his son needed further reprimand.

“He’s your boy.” Sunny conceded. “It’s not my place to tell you what he needs.”

“Snufkin, come here.” Joxter commanded. Snufkin wasn’t in a belligerent mood and turned away from the corner, unable to look the men in the eye as he approached them. “Look at me.” Joxter demanded. Snufkin stared up at those slitted, angry eyes, bile almost rising in his throat. “Sunny here is being very generous and is _not_ making us pay for the flour you wasted, you’ll just be cleaning it up. Understand?”

“Yes, Joxter.” Snufkin said, barely audible.

“Yes, what?” Joxter said, seemingly aggravated further by Snufkin’s choice of words.

“Yes…papa.” He rescinded, hoping it was what he wanted.

“That’s better.” Joxter said, pulling a chair out from behind the counter and seating himself in it. “Now, take off your coat and come over here.”

Confused, Snufkin did so, leaving his flour-doused jacket folded on the floor. Before he could ask what was happening, Joxter pulled him by the arm over his lap and wrapped an arm around his waist, trapping him there.

“Papa?” Snufkin said, unease creeping into his voice. Joxter didn’t reply, he just gripped the waistband of Snufkin’s trousers and yanked them down to his knees. “Papa!” Snufkin shouted, his face flaring deep red at having his hindquarters exposed so suddenly and in front of a stranger no less.

He couldn’t get another word in on the matter before Joxter raised his hand in the air and brought it down with a furious **_smack_** against his son’s bare rear. Snufkin yelped and thrashed, his tail protesting by waving in Joxter’s face. Joxter grabbed it and pinned the tail under his arm, making sure it didn’t get in his way again.

Sunny puffed at a pipe as Joxter peppered his son’s rear with smack after smack, filling the store with the noise of flesh smashing against flesh. Snufkin was quickly reduced to sobs by the spanking, Joxter not holding much back as he reddened his son’s cheeks.

It went on for longer than Sunny would’ve liked, long enough for him to know the boy would’ve been bruised by now. Subtly peaking at Snufkin’s rear-end confirmed that notion, they would be purpled before long if Joxter went on at his current rate, and Sunny could see in the mumrik’s eyes that he had little intent to stop soon.

“Papa please!” Snufkin begged, no more energy in him to even buck or clench at the fierce smacks. Joxter paused for a moment and breathed, really looking at the damage he inflicted unto his boy’s rear-end. He internally cringed, knowing that he went more than a bit further than necessary. Still, a silver lining would be that Snufkin would never forget this lesson and would think more in the future.

Joxter let his son up from his lap, who on shaky legs began to rub furiously at his burning cheeks, humility forgotten in this stranger’s presence. Joxter pulled Snufkin’s trousers up from his ankles lest any passers-by see something unbecoming. Snufkin cried out at having something over his sensitive rear so soon but Joxter ignored him. He grabbed his son by the shoulders and forced him to face Sunny.

“Apologise.” Joxter ordered coldly.

“S-sorry, s-s-sir.” Snufkin sobbed, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Sunny nodded, thinking that the child had more than made up for the incident, though he knew Joxter wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. He fetched a brush and pan which Joxter took from him and then gave to his son, pointing to the mess. Sunny couldn’t help but feel sorry for Snufkin as he went about the task of sweeping up the flour, his hand going into the back of his pants every so often to try and ease the sting.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Joxter said, walking to the door. “Do _not_ pull anything while I’m gone, you hear me, Snufkin?” Joxter scolded, staring accusingly at the boy.

“Yes papa.” Snufkin mumbled, feeling smaller than ever before.

Sunny didn’t want to just watch a sniffling child gloomily clean up a mess he didn’t mean to make, so he got out a broom and started to sweep with Snufkin. The job went by much quicker with the both of them working on it, Sunny humming a tune as Snufkin remained silent.

When they had mostly finished cleaning, Sunny would still need to mop later and scoop up the remaining particles, he told Snufkin he could stop.

It was then that Joxter came back in, the bag on his back brimming. He apologised to Sunny again, bought a sack of flour and left with his silent son in tow.

Snufkin didn’t say a word on the way home, nor did he say anything when they got home and packed away everything Joxter bought. He nodded wordlessly when Joxter told him to strip in the middle of the kitchen as he boiled a large pot of water.

Snufkin stood in a water basin as Joxter washed him with a cloth and combed the clumps of flour out of his hair. Being cleaned with warm water would’ve been nice in most other circumstances, but his sore rear-end and Joxter’s icy glare made it awkward and uncomfortable for him. He was wrapped in a fur and told to sit in front of the hearth as Joxter lit a fire.

Joxter went outside to dump the used water and puffed on his pipe for a while, leaving his son to dry off inside. He sighed, frustrated with Snufkin, himself and just about everything at the moment. This was one of the last things he wanted to happen but his son seemed to have little to no sense of foresight or restraint in him at all, just doing anything that came to mind without a single thought. Joxter knew that Snufkin only had the best of intentions and that he didn’t deserve to be spanked so harshly and in front of someone he didn’t know.

After calming down somewhat, Joxter went back inside and saw that Snufkin was still in the exact position he’d left him in, the fire blazing warmly. He fetched two things from his own pack and sat next to his dejected son, who flinched at his sudden appearance. Joxter’s gut wrenched. He didn’t want his son to fear him, not at all. He wanted him to respect him, sure, but not be so scared as to not want to be near him.

“C’mere, Snufkin.” Joxter gestured. He crawled over and Joxter gently lead him over his lap again, moving the fur to the side.

“Papa please no!” Snufkin cried, struggling to move away. “I’ll be good!”

“It’s okay, Snuf.” Joxter cooed, rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s back. “I’m not gonna spank you again.” With that, he took from his pocket one of the two things he bought while Snufkin had been cleaning. It was a flat, metal tin, one that smelled of coconut. He screwed it open and scraped his fingers across the waxy, white, oily balm. “This should help with the sting.” He said, smearing the balm onto Snufkin’s deep-red cheeks. Snufkin groaned, no doubt not appreciating Joxter’s calloused fingers.

When he was done, Joxter flipped Snufkin over and cradled him in his arms. “I’m sorry, Snufkin, I shouldn’t have done that, not as harshly as I did and certainly not while we were still out.”

Snufkin didn’t know what to say, so he just wrapped his arms around his father and was glad things were okay again. Basking for just a moment longer, Joxter set his son in his lap and pulled out the second item from his pocket.

“Here.” He said, handing a small, long, black box to Snufkin.

“What is it?” He asked, wonder in his voice.

“Open it and find out.” Joxter grinned. Snufkin did so and gasped at what he saw. Lying in the box was a shiny new harmonica, one that glistened in the firelight.

“Thank you, papa!” Snufkin declared, embracing his father around the chest.

“You’re welcome, Snuf.” Joxter replied, burying his face in his son’s hair. “I hope you like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please do me a favour and click that kudos button, I crave having a kudos rate of over 10%, and leave a comment if you've been particularly moved, or even if you weren't, it absolutely makes my day :D


End file.
